If You Get Lost, You Can Always Be Found
by unoriginalrhombus
Summary: "In Lima, the days dragged and the years felt like lifetimes. In New York though? God, in New York everything was fast. The days were fast, the people were fast, and the mindset was fast. There was no room for hesitation and Quinn was certainly fond of that. " AU. Quinn & Finn are married when she meets Santana. This is the story of how they still fall in love. Quinntana endgame.
1. Living On Such Sweet Nothing

_**A/N**: Oh hey guys! I said there would be a hiatus and then, well, this happened. I'm very much into this idea right now and it will be a multi-chapter fic. For the record, it is AU. Some of the personalities may not be the same as they are on the show (the hardest for me was Brittany because I couldn't figure out a way to have her seem the same and still act like an adult, ya know?) I enjoy AU stories because they're works of complete and utter fiction. I may not update this story as frequently as some people may want. I'm more focused on finishing up my other AU *cough* Mudpie *cough*_

_For the record, I don't know a lot about New York City. Yes, I have been there twice (soon to be three times!) but my memory of certain things is certainly fuzzy. Also, please read and review and let me know if you guys are interested in this. It's like my own little love child currently…_

_**Dedication: **Mmm. This is for Thirteenlocksmith. For reasons, my dear, that cannot be explained. JK. I actually wanted to dedicate this whole story to you because you said that you felt like one of my stories was written just for you. Well, this one wasn't written for you but it is for you._

* * *

**Living On Such Sweet Nothing**

"_And that is how change happens. One gesture. One person. One moment at a time." ―__Libba Bray_

_*Brrrrring Brrrrring Brrrrring Brrrrring*_

Quinn opened one eye and flung her arm out of bed to hit the snooze button on her alarm clock. It was pointless though because Quinn was already awake. She sighed and turned to the left to see if her alarm had woken up Finn, as well. She rolled her eyes affectionately when she was greeted with the sight of a drooling Finn. He was such a heavy sleeper.

It was beginning to look like just a Quinn kind-of morning.

Quinn sighed again and pulled the sheets away from her body, her body sitting up before she slipped her legs out of bed. It was cold. Colder than it had been all summer and Quinn smiled at the feeling. She was a rather large fan of New York City in the fall and winter. She blamed it on having grown up in Lima, Ohio, where basically every season is just another version of spring.

Quinn walked over to their closet and pulled out a towel as well as an outfit for the day. Today was a huge day for her. Well, every day in New York was a huge day for Quinn, but today was the largest so far. Today she would find out if she was being considered to take over the Arts and Leisure section of _The New York Times_ now that Gary was retired. That would mean that Quinn would be in charge of the whole section, not just the tiny articles on books and movies. This was huge.

Quinn glanced at the bed behind her. God, she just wished that Finn would wake up already. Quinn didn't want to force him awake or pressure him into getting up (marriage wasn't built on manipulation, after all) but he had promised her that he'd take her out for breakfast and now he was breaking that promise.

_Again._

Quinn rolled her eyes irritably and grabbed her clean clothes. She shut the closet door and headed over to the shower. She spared a glance at the clock and grimaced when she read 5:52. She had forty-five minutes to bathe, dress, and hopefully wake up Finn with her racket.

What? It isn't manipulation if it's an accident.

* * *

Quinn ran the towel through her short blonde hair again, just to make sure it was dry. She honestly enjoyed having short hair more than she enjoyed it long. She had made the decision after her first week at The New York Times and she didn't regret it one bit. Not only was her hair more convenient, but it also complimented her face _and_ it saved her time in the mornings. She didn't have to fuss over her hair as much as usual. Plus, she was married. She didn't need to put any extra effort into her looks.

It's not like Finn would notice if she did, anyway, Quinn adds as an afterthought.

She gives herself one last look-over in the mirror before nodding in satisfaction. She opened the bathroom door, threw her towel and pajamas in her hamper, grabbed her phone and slipped on her shoes before finally sparing a glance Finn's way. Quinn tried not to let herself get worked up when she noticed that Finn was still asleep. This was common in marriage and Finn truly did work hard. Quinn sighed for the third time that morning before slipping out of their bedroom.

She shouldn't be that upset, anyway, it wasn't like this was uncommon. Finn's schedule often varied from hers and these days Quinn was often left to fend for herself. Her phone vibrated as she was closing the apartment door. She locked it quickly before she spared a glance at her phone.

_Brittany: Breakfast on me? I know today is huge and I have an hour to kill._

Quinn smiled. Brittany always did remember the important things.

_Quinn: I'm game. Just text me the address, okay?_

* * *

The address that Brittany had sent her was for a little quaint coffee shop/restaurant that was literally six blocks away from Quinn's job. Quinn made it to the location first, which honestly, didn't surprise her because even after all of these years, Brittany was still a 'stop-and-smell-the-roses-even-though-I-have-a-tim e-constraint' kind-of girl.

Quinn entered the establishment and took a seat by the window. It was nearing seven-thirty in the morning so Quinn wasn't surprised by the lack of guests in the coffee shop. In all honesty, she was amazed that the place was even open this early. But then again, this is New York City.

Quinn waved off the hostess/waitress who wandered by and turned her focus towards the window. It was early and if it were anywhere else, Quinn would be surprised by the hordes of people that were already starting to form in the streets. However, this was New York, and there are often people in the streets here at all hours.

This is Quinn's favorite part of her day, the people watching. She loved stopping and looking whenever she got a chance. She enjoyed watching people that always seemed to be heading somewhere. It's these moments that remind Quinn that she made the right choice to leave Lima far behind her. It's these moments like these that make it impossible for Quinn to ignore the past five years.

Five years certainly passed by quickly here.

Well, quicker than they used to go by in Lima. In Lima, the days dragged and the years felt like lifetimes. In New York though? God, in New York _everything_ was fast. The days were fast, the people were fast, and the mindset was fast. There was no room for hesitation and Quinn was certainly fond of that.

Quinn sent a silent 'thank-you' to the heavens for having made it out. She looked away from the window and smiled when she saw Brittany making her way towards her. Quinn sent another silent 'thank-you' to the heavens for Brittany having made it out, too. Quinn doesn't really know where she'd be without Brittany but she was glad she didn't have to find out.

Brittany was her oldest and pretty much only friend (outside of Finn, that is, but husbands don't count). They met when they were thirteen at preparation cheer camp (a camp instilled for cheerio prospects) and had remained best friends ever since. They ruled Lima together and when graduation neared, they both agreed to take New York by storm just like they had Lima: together.

"You always pick the creeper seats, Q." Brittany said with a smile. She was wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, her feet tied up in black and white converse, and Quinn couldn't help but be a little envious by how effortless Brittany's attire always seemed.

Sure, it was only sweatpants, but Brittany was a dancer and that was basically the only attire that was required.

Quinn stood up and embraced Brittany in a quick hug. She gave Brittany a kiss on her right cheek before sitting back down. "You know it's a thing I do."

Brittany laughed. Her smile reaching her eyes just like always. She sat down opposite Quinn and grabbed the menu, her eyes scanning over everything and anything.

Quinn followed Brittany's example and grabbed her menu. She didn't have Brittany's bottomless stomach and she couldn't afford the pointless calories, not today, so Quinn settled on the easiest and healthiest thing on the menu.

"Sometimes I'm so lazy that I just wish I could take food as is and place it into my belly." Brittany said with a sigh.

Quinn laughed. Brittany certainly hadn't changed over the years. Yes, she wasn't nearly as ditzy as she was in high school (to be honest, a lot of that was for show anyway) but she was still Brittany. She was still essentially that flaky, floundering, free, frolicking, blonde that she was when she was eighteen.

"B, you always say the strangest things."

Brittany made a funny face and put down her menu. "You know you love me. I lighten up your life."

Quinn laughed again, an easiness settling around her like it always did when Brittany was around.

"You most certainly do."

* * *

Quinn stared in wonder as she watched Brittany shovel a bite of her egg omelet in her mouth, only to follow it with a strip of bacon, a forkful of pancakes, and then a bite of French toast. Quinn looked warily down at her fruit bowl and automatically felt a loss of appetite encompass her stomach. How Brittany could eat like that and still look the way she did was beyond Quinn.

Brittany grabbed her glass of water and took a long sip before setting the glass back down on the table. She wiped her mouth with her hand and Quinn cringed. Brittany was certainly _Brittany_.

Brittany shot her a smile. "Sorry, my belly was really hungry."

"I bet."

Brittany rolled her eyes. "I can't deny myself delicious things."

"You could chew with your mouth closed, though."

Brittany frowned. "But then I wouldn't be able to fit in a little bit of everything."

Quinn shook her head fondly. "You're lucky I already love you. Otherwise your eating habits would have already deflected me away."

"You always were a sweet talker," Brittany said with a wink. "Anyway, today isn't about me, it's about you!"

Quinn felt her cheeks flame at Brittany's excitement. "I guess so."

Brittany shoveled some more food into her mouth, her eyes twinkling as she looked at Quinn. "Wheresssfin?" Brittany said around a mouthful of food.

"What?"

Brittany chewed frantically and swallowed. "Where's Finn? Today is a huge opportunity for you! I thought we were celebrating by eating our feelings?"

Quinn tried not to look put out as her gaze lowered. She focused on the napkin in front of her, her hands playing with it by ripping the corners into little pieces. "He forgot."

"Again?" Brittany asked, her face pulled into a look of disbelief. She didn't say anything because she knew Quinn didn't want to hear it, but Quinn saw the concerned look that settled over Brittany's face.

Quinn nodded and Brittany pretended not to scoff in disappointment. She met Brittany's gaze and felt her heart warm as Brittany looked at her lovingly. Brittany reached her right hand across the table and covered Quinn's hands.

"Listen here, Q. I'm proud of you, okay? I know the perfect solution for your downer dilemma."

Quinn raised her eyebrows in curiosity. "You do?"

Brittany nodded. She pulled her hand back and smirked. "We go get shitfaced tonight."

"Brittany," Quinn scolded. "That's your solution for everything."

"That's because it works."

Quinn smiled in amusement. Brittany was her own personal cheerleader and it was something that Quinn was glad to have. She doesn't know where she'd be without the girl. She wasn't very good at making friends because the old HBIC attitude often felt the urge to pop up whenever Quinn was irritated. She didn't enjoy listening to trivial problems from her co-workers or hearing about how hot someone is, or even hearing hook-up stories. Quinn was twenty-three and married, her life was vastly different from her peers. She was focused on her career, not on friends, and if she was being honest…well, she had never been particularly good at building those bridges. The only reason Brittany was there was because she took Quinn at face value, loved her, and stuck by her side.

All in all, Quinn is grateful to have such a great best friend. In fact, she believes that having one great, loyal, confidant, loving, trusting friend is better than having fifteen fake acquaintances.

Quinn shrugged. She couldn't really disagree with her best friend on this.

"I suppose you're right."

* * *

Quinn spent the rest of her breakfast with Brittany watching the blonde scarf down item after item, and reminiscing fondly about everything that has happened over the past week (since she had last seen Brittany). Around 8:45 AM Brittany got a call from one of her co-workers saying that rehearsal had been moved to 9:30 AM. So, with a sad smile Brittany leaned into Quinn and gave her a kiss on the cheek, promising to make up for her early departure later that night.

Quinn had no appetite left after watching Brittany scarf down all of that food. So she ordered a coffee to go (usually on a typical day, Quinn would have been on coffee cup number three, but because of her early rendezvous with Brittany she hadn't even had one) and paid off her bill.

She grabbed the coffee from the hostess/waitress (really, Quinn had no idea, these days everyone practically did everyone else's job) and dropped a small tip in the tip jar. It wasn't much because Quinn wasn't entirely rolling in dough. Finn and her made enough money to live comfortable right now, but she was still paying of school debts and Finn had the tendency to make irrational and expensive splurges (usually they involved video games).

She laid her coat over her arm while balancing her coffee with her other hand. She pushed open the door, her wallet in her mouth and her purse hanging off of her shoulder. She looked positively not put together, and it would have bothered her, but she was always like this without coffee. Plus, she didn't have to be at work until 10 AM today. That was one of the perks at working at a newspaper. Some days she got to start later than others.

Quinn shoved her hand into her jean pocket and tried to grab her iPod, the noise of the streets already feeling overwhelming. She was walking slowly, her coat hanging on her left arm, her coffee in her left hand, her wallet in her teeth, her purse hanging on to her right elbow and her right hand shoved into her pocket when she dodged a pedestrian. She breathed a sigh of relief when she was able to twist in time and not get hit. She almost laughed because moments like this made her feel incredibly stealthy. Perhaps she had learned something from her five years here.

Quinn turned forward only to have somebody's shoulder check into the left side of Quinn's body. Perhaps she had spoken too soon.

Simultaneously a bunch of things happened at once. Quinn's wallet dropped to the ground, her hand pulled out of her pocket, her coffee hit her squarely in the chest (spilling all over her white t-shirt and white blazer) and her feet slipped out from underneath her. She fell to the ground with a 'oomph' and tried to stifle the old Quinn Fabray that had the strong desire to make an appearance.

"Jesus!" Quinn heard someone exclaim from above her. Quinn opened her eyes when she felt someone poke her in the cheek.

Quinn swatted the strangers hand away and sat up, a frown on her face. "I'm not a spectacle; you don't have to poke at me."

The stranger looked shocked for a brief moment before a grin spread across her features. "Well, I had to be certain that you weren't dead."

Quinn ignored the woman's statement as well as the hand that she stretched out in front of Quinn. It was probably a gesture of kindness but Quinn didn't see it as that, so she helped herself to her feet. She started picking up her things from the sidewalk completely ignoring the woman that hit her (more because she didn't want to say anything harsh, and she didn't trust herself right now). The woman seemed to take Quinn's silence as an answer and picked up Quinn's wallet before handing it to her. Quinn took it without a thank-you. She looked down and noticed her empty coffee cup a few feet away.

"Shit." Quinn said, realizing that the coffee had spilt over her entire outfit. She looked down and felt her blood rise. She looked away, irritation already settling.

The strange woman had the decency to look sheepish. "I'm really sorry about that, I wasn't watching where I was going."

Quinn ignored the woman's apology and glared at her. "Damn right you weren't."

The woman narrowed her eyes. "Look, I'm sorry I hit you but there's no reason for you to be a bitch about it. It's not my fault you were trying to carry everything when it's clear you only have two hands and you're not a juggler. I'm also sorry your blazer is ruined, but seriously? Who wears white in New York anyway? Talk about fashion suicide."

Quinn raised her hand to her temple. She could already feel a migraine coming on from this whole encounter and she was just eager to get this thing over with. "I don't remember asking for your opinion, whoever you are."

The woman smiled as though Quinn had just paid her a compliment. "Look, how about I buy you a coffee?"

"Because that will totally fix the situation at hand?"

The woman rolled her eyes. She pointed at the black vest she was wearing along with the scarf that was wrapped around her neck. "Probably not, but I am wearing some things that might be able to cover up the situation at hand. If you're nicer to me, I might be persuaded to give them to you."

Quinn frowned as her eyes raked over the woman in front of her. She didn't look to be older than Quinn. She was very tan, in fact, too tan for New York. Quinn squinted. The woman probably came from an ethnic background. Her hair was down in loose curls and she was wearing black skinny jeans, a black blouse, a black vest and a red scarf. She had on red heels and she looked, well, _stunning_. At least, in an easy sort of way. Quinn felt envy seep into her heart again. She hated effortless beauty because she always had to work for everything that she had.

Quinn pulled her lips into a thin line. "I don't need to be nice. You hit me."

"And now I'm offering to help you." The woman said with a shrug.

Quinn looked down at her watch. She still had an hour before she had to be at work. She weighed her options before settling on the fact that she couldn't go into work like this. Not on a day that was this serious.

"Fine…whoever you are," Quinn answered. Not really happy about the decision she was forced to make.

The woman laughed, seemingly amused at Quinn's bitchiness. It only served to irritate Quinn more.

"It's Santana."


	2. Before The Cool Done Run Out

_**A/N:** Oh hey guys! Here's chapter two, I really hope you enjoy it. I rather like it because it's slowly paced. Slower than usual. Slower than slow, perhaps. Anyway, enjoy and let me know whether you guys like it too!_

_(Sometimes I need encouragement because I get down and beside myself, but I just wanted to let you all know that I think you guys are awesome. No matter what your OTP is or which fandom you enjoy, thank you for reading my stories and just…well, enjoying them. Carry on!)_

* * *

**Before The Cool Done Run Out**

**(I'll Be Giving It My Best-est)**

Quinn chose another seat near the window while the woman—Santana, her name is Santana, ordered two coffees. Quinn had tried to tell Santana her order but the woman had waved Quinn off as if her coffee taste was obvious. It was another thing that irritated her, but Quinn wasn't dumb enough to say anything. Especially not when the woman was buying her a cup of coffee to replace the one she had pretty much destroyed.

Sure, Quinn was distracted as well when Santana had hit her. It didn't change the fact that Quinn would go to the grave claiming that it was entirely Santana's fault. It's something her father had taught her early on: denial is the key to blatant success in all situations.

Quinn crossed her arms over her chest so that strangers wouldn't feel the urge to stare at her obviously dirty upper half. Gross, not only did she look dirty but she felt it too. She was sticky and warm and it was the worst start to this day that she ever could have imagined.

It took less than five minutes for Santana to order and make her way over towards Quinn, two coffees in hand and a glare on her face. She was pretty, Quinn acknowledged again, in more than one way. This girl Santana was very attractive, uncomfortable so. She almost looked like a model and Quinn was torn between feeling insecure about her frazzled looks or hating the woman.

She settled on hatred because Santana was smug and pretty and every part the good looking New Yorker. Quinn settled on hatred because it had always been the easier emotion to resort to.

Santana set the coffees down on the table and pulled out the seat directly across from Quinn. She sat down, crossed her legs, and gestured at the coffee closest to Quinn. "It's not a piece of art. You don't need to spend all of your time staring at it."

Quinn huffed in irritation. This woman was pushing all of Quinn's buttons in a matter of seconds. It was infuriating. "I don't need your commentary either, but that's happening, now isn't it?"

Santana laughed, the corners of her eyes crinkling in amusement. "Sassy, I like it."

"I don't think I like you."

Santana laughed again and reached for the coffee closest to her. She popped open the lid and blew into it, her lips puckering like she was going to give the cup a kiss. Quinn frowned and looked away when she realized that she was staring. After a beat she turned her focus back towards Santana and was met with Santana's gaze. Santana put her cup back on the table. "Honesty, I like that as well."

Quinn shivered. She got the feeling that she was either being objectified or judged in this moment and she didn't appreciate either of those things. She didn't know Santana and she didn't want to. Quinn reached for the cup as a means to an end. The faster she drank her coffee the fast she'd warm up and the faster she could get this conversation over with. She didn't bother to blow on her coffee; instead Quinn took a long gulp, scalding coffee and all.

Santana raised an eyebrow in curiosity, an irritating smile on her face. "In a hurry, are we?"

Quinn ripped her mouth away from her cup, her body feeling warm again (feeling bolder again). Quinn ignored Santana's question (as well as Santana's amusement). "You got my order right."

"Of course I did." Santana said with a shrug. "Girls like you are easy."

Quinn narrowed her eyes. "I don't know what you're insinuating, but you better put your tongue back into your mouth until you can spell out an apology."

Santana laughed _again_ and this time Quinn was pissed off. She wasn't a comedienne. There was nothing funny about this conversation. But Santana kept looking at her like all of Quinn's bitchiness was the best thing Santana had ever seen or heard. It was weird and what's more, it was freaking irritating. Santana pulled her lips into a smile and did her best to look somber.

"I'm sorry if I offended you." Santana looked up towards the ceiling as if she was in a heavy thought. "Actually, no, I'm not sorry. But that's mostly because I'm me and I find your attitude enjoyable and entertaining. It speaks to me."

Quinn took another sip from her coffee just because she had no idea what else she could do. This Santana girl was weird and Quinn was torn between thinking she was crazy person or just plain crazy.

"Look," Santana started, effectively drawing Quinn back into the conversation. "I'm going to be real here. I don't believe that I owe you any sort of apology for this morning because if I'm being frank, you were paying as little attention to your surroundings as I was."

"You hit me!" Quinn exclaimed in outrage, her grip tightening around her coffee cup.

Santana put up her hand to silence Quinn. "I _know_ that I hit you Bubbles, so calm your tits. What I'm saying is that aside from buying you coffee I don't think I owe you anything else out of this conversation. However, you seem like a completely uptight, wound, bitchy person, I'm not going to lie. But you're a very honest one it seems and I can respect that. So I'm going to tell you what I can do." Santana started unbuttoning her vest before sliding it off, she unwrapped her scarf next and laid it on the table along with her vest. It left Santana in just a t-shirt, jeans, and heels. If anything, it just made her beauty look even more effortless. How wonderful. Santana gestured at Quinn's blazer, moving her hands in circular motions until Quinn took it off. Santana reached for Quinn's blazer and put it on, ignoring Quinn's protest. "I'm going to take your awful blazer—which, if _I'm_ being honest, actually looks better with coffee all over it. Anyway, I'm going to take it and have it dry-cleaned. You take my vest and scarf."

"Did you just call me Bubbles? Like the Power Puff girls?"

"Yes." Santana agreed, her eyes twinkling. "Sugar, spice, and everything nice...which is nothing like the person I'm experiencing right now. It's perfect."

Quinn ignored Santana's comment and instead did as she was told. She reached across the table and grabbed Santana's vest before sliding it on. She buttoned it up, only looking back at Santana when she was done. The vest fit well enough (if you exclude the fact that the bust area was larger than what Quinn could fit into). Santana seemed to sense Quinn's train of thought because she rolled her eyes. "Blame the ill decisions of a sixteen year old. I thought a boob job would boost my popularity."

Quinn sat back, a little thrown by Santana's honesty. But even more thrown by the fact that it sounded like the exact thing she would have done in high school. Quinn debated on whether or not she should honestly answer before settling on a response. She hadn't lied once this whole entire conversation, why start now. "Sixteen year old you sounds like a girl I would have been best friends with in high school."

"Is that so?" Santana asked her voice curious.

Quinn nodded. "Unfortunately, it is."

"What about now?"

Quinn shrugged, the vest rising with her shoulders. "I don't even know you."

"Unless I'm mistaken, that's usually how this little thing called friendship starts off."

Quinn glared at Santana, her eyes icy. "I don't appreciate your smart-ass comments, so I really don't know.

"One: That's like the best part about me. Two: You haven't exactly been a ray of sunshine today either. Three: my aubela always said that life really begins when you don't know what's coming."

Quinn shook her head, a small smile gracing her lips. Whoever this girl was she was definitely amusing. At least she was amusing in a bitchy mean girl sort of way. This whole experience was leaving awkward land and heading towards eerily comfortable. Quinn couldn't explain it, but it felt like this banter was natural. It came easily and effortlessly. Maybe Santana could feel it too; maybe that's why she hadn't taken offense at any of Quinn's earlier comments. Quinn licked her lips. "Why does it matter? We don't even know each other."

Santana looked away, her shoulder raised in a half shrug. "My aubela is a strong believer in her Mexican third eye. It's no joke. Sometimes that shit can even predict the weather. Which is highly convenient in case you were curious."

"What?"

"It means that she believes everything happens for a reason." Santana explained, as if that was the answer to everything instead of the cause of more questions. Quinn didn't understand this whole scenario but then again, she didn't have very many friends. Aside from Brittany, nobody else had made the effort to get to know Quinn. Maybe this was how friendships were built. Maybe Quinn just needed to let it happen. Maybe she had to push on, regardless of how irritating the girl in front of her was (or good at being).

"You're odd and slightly rude."

Santana half smiled. "You're blatantly bitchy.."

"You keep saying that." Quinn shot back, feeling like she was getting into a rhythm.

Santana lowered her head in agreement. "That's because it's true. I'm sure you'll take it as a compliment."

"Touché," Quinn said with a smile, choosing to take Santana's words as a compliment instead of otherwise. She reached for her coffee and took another drink, recognizing that it was almost gone. "So," Quinn started after finishing the rest of her coffee. "This has been pleasant…said no one, ever."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Do you like Broadway?"

Quinn reared her head back as if Santana's question was stinging her with its personal…ness. "Yes. You can't live in New York and not love Broadway." Quinn said before continuing, her hands, mouth, and mind already caught up in her words. "In fact, whenever tickets become available at my job everyone fights over them like its scraps of food and they're starving animals."

"Where do you work?"

Quinn hesitated briefly. For all she knew this girl could be a serial killer trying to gather information on her future victims. For reasons Quinn could not fathom, she decided to answer. Later she'd blame it on the giddiness at someone (other than Brittany) asking about her professional career, but in reality, Quinn just enjoyed having someone interested in her at all. "I work as a writer at The New York Times."

Santana's mouth dropped open in surprise. "No shit? No wonder you looked so old and stuffy, like the word fashion had completely gone over your head."

"Did you just insult me?"

Santana waved her off and Quinn frowned. She hated being dismissed and Santana seemed to do it to her frequently. "Listen here, Bubbles." Santana said, leaning her body in as if she was telling Quinn a secret. Her legs crossed and Quinn's blazer ill-fitting. "I figure that at some point we'll have to give each other our actual clothes back, right?"

Quinn nodded. "Yeah, I suppose so."

Santana grabbed a pen from her pocket and reached for a napkin. She scribbled something out on the napkin before handing it to Quinn. "Listen, I'm starring in this show over on 5th. It's not a huge part because lord knows I still have a ton of ass to kiss, but it's enough to get me complimentary tickets. If you come to that address at eight tonight, I'll have the box office hold two tickets for you. It would be my apology and a reason for you to come get your awful blazer back."

Quinn stared at the napkin; it was her turn to be surprised. She looked back up at Santana. "You're starring in Wicked? That's huge!"

"Maybe ten years ago," Santana said with a shrug. "Now it's just a sort-of novelty thing. But it's a lot of fun and it's getting my foot in the door. What do you say, Blondie?"

Quinn opened her mouth to answer but was cut off by the alarm from her cell phone. She reached into her phone and pulled it out. Shit, she had fifteen minutes to run across the street and clock in and work. Quinn looked up and shot Santana a wary smile. "I'll think about it. I actually have to go. Duty calls."

Santana nodded in agreement and stood up with Quinn. "Why don't I walk you?"

"No, you don't have to do that."

"I know, but I've been dying to see if everyone at that newspaper looks like hipsters. For some reason it's just what I envision. Hipsters and beanies."

Quinn resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She barely knew this girl but she could already tell that she was going to be a pain in Quinn's behind. Quinn grabbed her bag and started heading out, Santana following close behind her. "I can already tell that your skill set includes getting on my last nerve."

Santana laughed, hearty and free as they walked outside into people traffic. Quinn looked both ways before jogging across the street, Santana quick to follow even though she was in heels. The crazy thing about New York is that running across the street is the sort of thing that would get somebody hit somewhere else, but in New York? This sort of thing was expected. New Yorkers were all action and very little thought. It was bad but in many areas, in many moments (including this one) it was _good_.

A normal person would consider this weird situation exactly that. But in New York…well, it's hard to meet people and it's easier too. It's easier because connections develop everywhere and harder because these connections also get ruined very quickly. It's part of what made Quinn hesitant to except Santana's offer. Knowing somebody in the Broadway circuit could be extremely beneficial to Quinn (well, knowing somebody aside from Brittany). It could help her out with Newspaper articles as well as help Brittany out with jobs.

To sum it up, never burn a bridge before seeing if you can cross it.

Quinn turned to her left when they reached her building, her eyes trained curiously on Santana. "Regardless of what you may believe, I can't actually get you past security. Not today at least."

Santana nodded in defeat. She lifted her arms and Quinn spotted the scarf that she must of left on the table. "Yeah, I figured. I have to head to rehearsals anyway. I just wanted to make sure you got this." Santana took the scarf and wrapped it around Quinn's neck, her hands freezing when they accidentally slid against Quinn's chin. Quinn shivered again even though the sun was beginning to shine and it wasn't that cold anymore, especially since she had just been running. Santana took a step forward, her eyes trained on Quinn. Quinn frowned, not really certain what was going on but feeling like Santana was invading her personal space far too much for someone she had only just met.

Santana stayed put though and Quinn didn't say anything, because strangely enough, this moment felt like a _moment_ that Quinn shouldn't have interrupted. After a beat and a weird transference of something (electricity, friendship, curiosity) Santana cleared her throat and took a step back, adjusting the scarf around Quinn's neck for the last time to make sure it covered the stain on her shirt that the vest didn't. "Anyway," Santana said, her arms dropping down and settling by her hips. "I hope you do decide to stop by. Otherwise I would have to burn this monstrosity that you actually call a blazer. For the sake of everyone in New York, I hope you don't write the fashion column."

Quinn set her jaw, her lips in a hard line. "You wouldn't."

"I don't think you know me well enough to make that judgment call."

Quinn bit her lip, a hint of playfulness seeping into Santana's tone. Quinn hit Santana's shoulder with her fist. "That is true…well, this has been sufficiently weird. Thank you for the clothes—even though you technically destroyed mine. Thank you for the coffee, and thank you for the offer. I'll think about it." Quinn turned around, her hand flat on the turning door and ready to push.

"Wait." Quinn felt Santana's hand grab hers quickly, preventing Quinn from continuing. "Wait. I didn't catch your name."

Quinn pulled her hand free and shot Santana a playful look (which, where the hell did that come from? A second ago she was aggravated and now she was playful? She certainly wasn't very good at making friends because this wasn't the way to go).

"I didn't give it to you."


	3. I Just Met You And This Is Crazy

_A/N: Two different story updates in one day! Thank you for the continued support. Please read, review, comment, follow, etc. and let me know what you liked or didn't like. As always, encouragement keeps me motivated. You are all incredibly wonderful and I thank you for taking the time to read these stories._

* * *

**I Just Met You And This Is Crazy**

Quinn pushed through the revolving door, her demeanor completely changing once she stepped foot inside of her work building. Outside on the streets she was just a regular New Yorker, but here? She was Quinn freaking Fabray and she was contributing to something that had the ability to be _special_ and _change_ things.

When she was inside of this building she made sure that she walked with a purpose and acted with such a focus that it was almost scary. Quinn strode forward purposefully and flashed Mike her work badge along with a smile. He waved in response just like he always did and Quinn made the effort to wave back, just like she always did. It wasn't much but it was a routine and Quinn was awfully fond of it.

She slid into the elevator once the doors had opened and pressed the button for the thirteenth floor. She always felt huge amounts of relief when inside of this elevator. Quinn couldn't put a name on it but the elevator felt like a transition. She had spent so long in Lima, she had spent so much of her life as Finn's _something_ that it was just nice to have a place and memories and actions that were solely hers. There was no Sue Sylvester here, there was no Brittany or Finn or Judy Fabray. There was only Quinn and her decisions and her choices, and as a side effect, her memories.

As if remembering Lima was the hint she needed to think about Finn, Quinn slipped her hand into her jean pocket and pulled out her wedding rings. She slipped them onto her fingers with ease and watched as the diamonds twinkled under the elevators lights.

It's a curious thing, being married. During her first few months in the city Quinn had made an effort to constantly wear her ring as if it was a sign that somebody had claimed her so nobody else needed to try. She doesn't even know why or when it started but Quinn does know that about six months in it started to become more and more regular for her to slip her rings off while traveling to and from school—and now work. She would take the ring off whenever she was anywhere that a wedding ring wasn't needed.

Quinn sometimes thinks that it started because she was worried about losing something that had meant so much to Finn, but after all these years the only thing Quinn can acknowledge is that it's freeing in a way. When she's wearing her wedding ring she feels tied down, weighted perhaps, by the reality that is her life. Without the ring she feels free, she feels like Quinn Fabray again instead of the girl who married her high school sweetheart. Maybe they're the same person but maybe they're not, maybe when she's wearing the ring she becomes this perceived idea of what marriage is and who a wife is supposed to be and maybe when she isn't wearing the ring Quinn feels like she can be _anybody_ and maybe that's where the appeal is.

The elevator dinged when it hit the thirteenth floor just like it always did and Quinn pulled herself out of her trance, her fingers moving her wedding ring in circles on reflex, and she braced herself for the future. Years ago she had stopped trying to predict the future. All she could do now was brace herself and hope for the best.

Quinn exited the elevator and was immediately ambushed by her secretary, Kitty.

"Good morning, Quinn," Kitty greeted. A clipboard in her left hand and a coffee in her right. She handed Quinn the coffee and Quinn accepted it without a thank you. "I take it you're feeling well today because you look absolutely stunning."

Quinn internally rolled her eyes as she raked her eyes up and down Kitty's figure. Kitty was the type of girl that Quinn thinks she would have befriended back in Lima. Not because Kitty was a good person—although she could be, Quinn honestly doesn't know because she doesn't take the time to care—but because Kitty majored in kissing ass. Most days Quinn pondered how much farther Kitty could stick her head up Quinn's ass before it physically became difficult for Quinn to shit.

Kitty was the type of girl who knew where she was going and wasn't afraid to do what she had to do to get there. It reminded Quinn a little too much of Lima and her teen years, before New York and reality set in. Kitty was twenty-one and an early graduate of Columbia. Kitty wanted to be a journalist and like all other people at The Times, she had to pay her dues.

It sucked but it was life, and no amount of ass kissing was going to get her up the work ladder any quicker.

"Your compliment is sweet and highly unnecessary," Quinn replied. She puts the coffee to her mouth and takes a sip, her eyes closing on reflex at the warmth that envelopes her. When Quinn opens her eyes again she's met with Kitty's fake smile. "Are you going to continue with the run-through or will I have to do that job for you?"

Kitty's smile falters and Quinn revels in the brief break in character. It's nice to know that she still has it. Kitty looks down at the clipboard. "You have your meeting with the board at ten-thirty. Then at noon you're supposed to meet Matthew Madison—he's that new artist that everyone is crazy about and he was supposed to meet with Gary but, you know, he retired because he's old. Matthew agreed to lunch at this restaurant off of fourth. And then you have the next four hours free to finish your article on Iron Man Three."

It's pointless, Quinn thinks, to have an assistant when this is clearly all she has planned for the day. However, the newspaper gifted her with one and Quinn wasn't about to object. Having Kitty follow her around all day made Quinn feel important and reminded her a little too much of high school.

"Thank you, Kitty," Quinn says because she wants to make the effort to at least appear gracious. "I think that will be all for now. You're more than welcome to do whatever else you need to today. I think today is going to be very light."

Kitty nodded, her shoulders dropping in relief. She leaned in then, her breath smelling like oranges. "Is it true that you're being considered for Gary's old position?"

Quinn didn't want to encourage work gossip but she was too excited to suppress her answer. "Yes, it's true."

"Does this mean we would be moving up with the big wigs?"

Quinn tilted her head to the side, amused that Kitty believed that Quinn would take her with her. Perhaps she would, Quinn realized randomly, because Kitty had always been around with Quinn so there wouldn't be any reason to _not_ take Kitty with her.

It hits her then that Kitty and Quinn were working for the same thing. Sometimes her ego and her die hard habits and personality quirks got in the way of Quinn actually recognizing certain things. Quinn extended her arm and patted Kitty on the shoulder. It was out of character, Quinn knew, but it felt necessary.

"Yes, it does."

* * *

Arthur—the head of the whole entire newspaper leaned back in his chair, an amused look on his face. Quinn was sitting in his office in the seat across from him; her hands were splayed upon his oak desk nervously. Arthur's office was the type of place that Quinn always considered empty and unnecessary. It was three times larger than Quinn's office and nearly five times bigger than Kitty's tiny cubicle. Quinn couldn't imagine why someone would require so much when their job requires so little, but she assumed it was a wealthy thing. Big egos required big dreams and a big everything else to match.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Quinn; we are considering you for Gary's old position."

Quinn smiled in return, her excitement breaking onto her face. "I'm truly honored, sir."

Arthur held up his hand to silence her and sat forward. His hand reached for a box that was situated almost directly in front of him. Arthur opened it and pulled out a cigar, he offered one to Quinn and Quinn shook her head in response.

Arthur truly and whole heartedly reminded Quinn of her father and not in a fond way. He was arrogant, of that Quinn was certain. It was the sort of arrogance that comes with having money, the sort of ego that develops over time when someone is used to getting what they want and used to having the money to do so. Quinn didn't like it, but just like Kitty, she could kiss ass when required.

"_However,_" Arthur began, his mouth encompassing the cigar. "We are also considering one of our other employees, Unique. The name itself certainly has an appeal if you know what I mean."

Quinn wanted to frown in disgust but instead she pushed out a forced smile. "I understand, sir."

Arthur laid his hands down flat on his desk, his fingers too close to Quinn's. She couldn't pull back now, though, not in the face of danger. "I guess what I'm saying is that you have three months, the both of you, to prove to me as well as the board that you're the one who truly deserves the position. At the end of these next three months we will look at your work and decide who is most capable."

Quinn nods even though she truly doesn't understand. "Um, what am I supposed to do over the next three months?"

"Quinn, you're a smart girl. You'll figure it out."

Quinn nods again, realizing the conversation is over. Quinn can only assume that Arthur is asking her to be innovative and a leader—which in a sense, he is, since he's not giving her any particular tasks. Quinn can already tell that she's going to struggle because she's never been very good at being creative and coming up with things when they counted. She's excelled at order and structure and plans her whole entire life, so how is she going to pull this off?

It's strange but only because her life has constantly felt like one big game of chess. Every move, every decision was just another action that was plotted to keep Quinn from being check-mated. Maybe that's the true meaning of life; maybe everyone was just trying to _survive_ and it wasn't until now that Quinn could truly see it.

Her hand is on Arthur's door knob and her mind is still scattered when she hears him call out to her. She turns around and gives him her full attention.

"Now, Quinn, for the next three months we're going to be watching you both very _closely,_" Arthur emphasized as his eyes wandered up and down Quinn's body. "So I suggest you do everything and _anything _that you can to win this position, okay?"

Quinn licked her lips, her eyes unable to stop from crinkling in disgust. "Yes sir."

"Alright, carry on." Arthur dismissed.

Quinn grabbed the handle and jerked the door open. Her feet stomping on the ground and unintentionally portraying the irritation she felt in her heart.

"Kitty!" Quinn barked as she passed her assistants desk, completely interrupting Kitty's phone call. "Get Brittany on the line now!"

* * *

"What a greasy man, I bet you that someone could cook bacon on his face, the man sounds that greasy," Brittany states into the phone. She's short of breath and her sentence comes out a little bit rushed, but Quinn feels calmed anyway.

"So what should I do?"

"I don't know," Brittany answers honestly. "You could quit."

"I can't do that," Quinn objected. "I've been working towards this for _years_."

"Then I don't know what to tell you, Quinn," Brittany answers, clearly at a loss. "The only thing I can really tell you to do is go for it. Bring out the old HBIC that we all know and love. That girl had no problem screwing over anyone and everyone to get what she wanted."

"We're not in high school anymore, though."

"Just because we're not in high school doesn't mean that those people go away," Brittany stated clearly. "They just get older."

"I guess," Quinn agreed unconvincingly.

"Look, either you go for it or you don't. Those are the only options you have, Q. Just because we're not kids anymore doesn't mean that life gets easier. It doesn't mean that friendships don't end, people aren't mean, and relationships are easy. Just because we're older doesn't mean that we know what to do next. You have to make the decision."

Quinn glanced outside of her office and looked down at the hundreds of people that were rushing all over Times Square. "I suppose you're right, B."

"Of course I am." Brittany acknowledged. "Anyway, is there anything else you want to discuss?"

Quinn searched through the events of her day until she settled on the one that was most interesting. "I met a woman today."

"Oh, I like where this is going," Brittany teased.

"It wasn't like that," Quinn stated matter-of-factly. She brushed some hair behind her ear and focused her eyes on the screen of her computer. "Quit projecting."

"Wait. Did she offer you a blue pill or a red pill?"

"What?" Quinn asked bewildered. "No. Why?"

"No reason," Brittany answered quickly. "I just think that happened to me once."

"Anyway," Quinn continued, not wanting to get caught up in Brittany's usual quirkiness. Even though Quinn was certain that Brittany's question sounded a lot like the plot line from the movie The Matrix. "She invited me to this show tonight and I was thinking that I would go with Finn. It's not very often that we get out, you know."

"Ah, so you're canceling on me," Brittany concluded, her voice light. "It's okay, I understand."

Quinn smiled when Brittany continued on unoffended. Perhaps this was what best friends were for. "You always do, Britt, you always do."

* * *

Quinn stepped off the subway and made her way over towards the stairs. Her feet climbed the flight incredibly slowly; her body already exhausted from work and the traveling it took to get there and back. It was a quarter to six which meant that she had barely enough time to shower, change, and apply some make-up before catching the seven o'clock train back to the city.

Santana's show was at eight and even though Quinn was annoyed by the woman, she honestly wanted to go. It wasn't every day that Quinn got to see a show in Manhattan, let alone for free. Plus, she was stressed and overworked and just plain irritated by her job and that usually meant that she needed a few drinks and a night out on the town to relax her increasingly worried mind.

Quinn punched the code into her apartment building and slid back on her wedding ring as soon as she made it safely inside. She used the last of her energy to push herself up a few flight of stairs and sighed in relief when she saw her apartment door. She shoved the key inside of the lock and twisted the handle, somewhat excited about telling Finn about her day.

Her excitement evaporated however, when she was met with the sight of Finn in sweatpants. He wasn't wearing a shirt even though Quinn had constantly nagged him about that throughout their entire marriage and he was shoving a hot pocket into his mouth while his hands were gripping an X-box controller. Quinn rolled her eyes and shut the door behind her, her mouth biting on her tongue to keep her from snapping.

Finn smiled, his hands pausing the game as a dopey look taking over his face. "Hey! How was work?"

Quinn bit down the urge to attack Finn—something that was oddly common these days and instead focused on Santana's offer. "It was good, you know…_considering._"Quinn hinted.

"Did you have a big client today or something?" Finn asked, completely oblivious to everything.

Quinn shook her head in disappointment. "No." She decided to avoid the topic of work altogether because it wouldn't do her any good to argue with Finn right now. "I did, however, receive two tickets to tonight's showing of Wicked. What do you say? You, me, a show, and maybe later on a bottle of wine…" Quinn trailed off as she got nearer to Finn, her body only a few feet away from his.

Finn frowned. "I'm not really in the mood for some fancy show right now, baby. I worked all day."

"Me too," Quinn pointed out.

"Yeah, I know. But, like…I was kind-of just hoping it'd be you and me tonight and we could hang out and watch Castle reruns just like we used to. Maybe order some Chinese." Finn lowered his voice even though they were adults now and there was nobody else around. "Maybe even fool around."

Quinn felt her hopes sink. "Yeah, okay." She said disappointed. "I'm just going to go shower."

Finn gave her a goofy smile and Quinn did her best to smile back, even though she felt like something was off. "Okay!"

Quinn grabbed a pair of clothes, stripped down, and turned on the shower.

It's moments like these where Quinn feels sick to her stomach.

There's nothing wrong with Finn, not really. Quinn loves him and Finn loves Quinn and he's a perfectly acceptable husband. It's just that…Quinn feels settled (more like resigned) and she doesn't understand how that could be. Yes, she's been married to Finn since she was eighteen and yes, they've been together since freshman year. But she's twenty-three. These were the fun years. So why was she resigning herself to sitting at home on a Friday and watching reruns of Castle with Finn?

God, Quinn thinks as she steps into the shower. She's so bored that it's making her anxious. Is that normal? Is it normal to be anxious with your life?

It happens quickly after that, just like always. One minute she's thinking about how she got here and the next Quinn is curled into a ball underneath the shower head. It's a panic attack, Quinn knows, because she's had them regularly for the past year.

She doesn't know where they came from or why, she only knows that they exist.

She only knows that when it's late at night and she's lying in bed she has to kick her socks off because if she leaves them on, it feels like she's suffocating. The night is the hardest because that's when the rest of the world is most at ease. But for Quinn, it's when she's most anxious; it's when the fear really sets in.

What Quinn is truly afraid of, she honestly doesn't know.

_Still._

The socks suffocate Quinn because they represent the things that she can't escape from, the realities that surround her. The socks are suffocating because she wants different, Quinn wants to feel better. But the socks will never truly leave. Quinn's socks will have to be taken off every night because every morning she's going to need to put them back on and face the day, regardless of whether Quinn wants to or not.

Unfortunately, one cannot escape this world forever. Eventually it will all catch up to her. Eventually Quinn will age and removing her socks at night won't be enough anymore. Eventually the world will change and Quinn may not change with it. Eventually friends will move on, family will pass away, jobs will disappear and love will dwindle. Eventually her light will go out and the story that Quinn had to tell, it will be gone with her.

Quinn covers her heart with her hand, her eyes closed and her body trying to recuperate. The panic attacks leave her bare and broken. It's hard to fight something that she can't see coming and it's even harder to figure out where they come from. All Quinn can do is brace herself and try to survive the impact.

Immediately after the thoughts start rolling the guilt hits her. It's always quick to follow any change of thought, any regret, so Quinn can't be too surprised when it decides to hit her in strides while she's cowering in the corner of her shower.

Guilt is such a terrifying thing.

It's haunting, always there and ready to peak out at her most vulnerable moments.

Maybe it's easy to escape it, but Quinn has never been that lucky. She remembers _moments_, which is funny, because before she got here (to the place where she is now) she had never thought that they'd be important. She remembers falling asleep with Brittany on her couch during junior year, Brittany's arms wrapped around Quinn's shoulders and all Quinn could feel was _safe_. Quinn remembers fighting with Judy and Russell, telling them that she wouldn't marry Finn and stay in Lima because no one should ever resign their self to such a terrible fate.

She remembers telling Brittany while drunk that she loved Finn but she didn't think she was _in love_ with Finn. She remembers the moment of recognition where Quinn realized she wouldn't be able to make it out of Lima alone and that, what's more, she was scared to leave by herself.

She remembers thinking that Finn had always been terribly convenient.

Quinn chokes out a sob when the thought runs through her head. The darkness made it easier for her to cry, like it's easier to reveal herself when she knows that nobody is watching. Quinn continued to cry until the water ran cold and Finn knocked on the door. Quinn continued to cry until she decided that enough was certainly _enough. _She proceeded to step out of the shower, put on some nice clothes, and decides to go do something before she drowned herself in these feelings.

Finn makes everything worse when he tells Quinn that he understands how she could need a night out and that he's glad she called Brittany. He makes it worse when he hugs her and tells her to have fun.

In the end Quinn only feels guilty. She goes anyway though, because she's always been a pretty selfish kind of girl.

* * *

Quinn pushed her way through the crowd until she made it to the box office. She stepped forward and recognized that is was ten minutes until seating. She peered at the older woman who was staring condescendingly at her from behind the glass.

"Hi, um," Quinn started nervously. "This is going to sound weird but Santana put tickets on hold for me tonight? I realize it's strange because I didn—"

"Bubbles?" The elderly woman looked up from the bin she was sifting thru. "Is that correct?"

"Yes!" Quinn exclaimed, a laugh escaping from her throat at the weirdness of it all. "Unfortunately that is me."

"Santana Lopez doesn't give many tickets away," the lady comments off-handedly as if it mattered. "You must be special."

Santana Lopez. Well, at least she knew her full name now. Quinn did her best to look pleased. "Yes, I most certainly must be."

The lady pushed a paper through the little money hole. "I just need you to sign your name."

Quinn signed the paper with a: Bubbles 3 (Thank You!)

Quinn handed the paper back and grinned when the lady gave her the tickets. She had Santana's blazer and scarf on so she definitely had the incentive to be here, never mind the fact that Quinn had just suffered from an intense anxiety attack. She stood by the doors and only had to wait for a few minutes before her best friend came into view. Brittany was wearing a short skirt, a sleeveless top, and a leather jacket. She had flats on and her hair was up in the usual cheerio ponytail that they were forced to have all through high school.

Brittany always did dress to party.

"Britt-Britt you made it!" Quinn exclaimed in excitement. She wrapped her arms around her best friend and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Brittany pulled away and gave Quinn a smile. "I'd have to be an idiot to pass up a free showing of Wicked with my best friend on a freaking Friday!"

"I'm sorry it was so last minute," Quinn apologized as she headed into the theater. She gave Brittany her ticket before handing hers over to the door greeters.

"It's no problem, Q," Brittany brushed off Quinn's apology as she handed her ticket over to the door greeter next. When they were done Brittany took the ticket back with a smile. "But if you don't mine me asking, where's Finn?"

"He didn't feel like going out."

"Ah," Brittany said in acknowledgement. Brittany squealed when she saw all the Wicked memorabilia. "Excuse me while I go ape shit over there."

"I'm with you on that one!" Quinn shouted at Brittany, completely content with feeling like a kid again.

* * *

"So which one is she again?" Brittany asked around a mouth full of Red Vines. She was searching through the program for Santana's name.

Quinn smiled affectionately and resisted the urge to playfully shuffle Brittany's hair. "I have no idea, but her name is Santana Lopez."

"You didn't Google her or anything?" Brittany asked in surprise. "I would have Googled her."

"I didn't know her last name until like thirty minutes ago, B! Plus, this wasn't like one of Sue's old super-secret missions, there was no reason for me to go all spy vs. spy on this woman."

"Well, she must be important," Brittany pointed out. "Because we're literally like eight rows from the stage and I can't even get you seats as good as this, and I'm amazing."

"Humble is what you are," Quinn snipes.

"Oh!" Brittany exclaimed excitedly, her body jumping up and down in the seat. "I found her! Oh, wow, holy fuck."

Quinn smacked Brittany on the arm. "Britt! There's children around, watch your language."

"Right, sorry," Brittany said even though she really wasn't. "Quinn, look at this! She isn't some unknown; she's the freaking star of this show!"

Quinn leaned over to look where Brittany was pointing and sure enough, there was Santana's name right next to a photo and a description of the character Elphaba. Quinn pulled back feeling a little put off. Sure, Santana was a stranger but that was no reason to lie.

"Thank you so much for bringing me. You have no idea how many connections I can totally get out of this."

Quinn gave Brittany a soft smile. "It's no problem, B."

Brittany's face was still engrossed in the program. "Holy shit, Quinn, you didn't tell me that she's hot."

"It must have slipped my mind," Quinn answered. "Seriously, B, _language._"

"Sorry," Brittany says with a worried smile. She shoved the program underneath Quinn's nose. "Seriously though, now I can't help but wonder if she's flexible." Brittany comments, her voice barely a whisper. "Isn't she just gorgeous?"

Quinn looked down at the picture of Santana and felt her face flush from embarrassment. She didn't care about Brittany's sexual choices. Quinn had loved her best friend since the moment Brittany had introduced herself at camp to the moment Brittany had introduced Quinn to her girlfriend Marley, to this very moment. It was just awkward for Quinn to answer such a question in public about a woman that she could only truly find aggravating.

Quinn looked over the photo and tried not to feel envious of Santana's headshot. It cast her in the perfect light, a light that Quinn could barely get under on most occasions. Quinn turned away from Brittany and cleared her throat.

"Yes, she is."


End file.
